The Silver Project
by wynterarrow
Summary: Edward Elric thought he had already lost it all- family, home, his career. But when government tells him Alphonse was involved in a space program called SILVER, he's in for something he was never prepared for. Set in future time-era.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Well… I do admit, the idea of having the FMA crew in space is kinda out there… but it's the future, I think they should have the chance to experience modern technology (more advanced than what we have right now, actually.) Ed is twenty-four. This is a flashback that is partially crucial to the story.

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. Why do we need this disclaimer anyways?**

Chapter One: It Was Time to End This War

"Behind you, Sector One!"

Belatedly, he recognized the warning was for him. The sound of rapid gunfire echoed across Edward's earpiece. "Shit!" He dove behind a section of broken wall just in time to avoid a hail of bullets. One arced off the wall opposite him and buried itself dangerously close to his head. Another ricocheted directly off his armor, shattering into deadly fragments of shrapnel.

He swore again and gripped his gunblade tightly, switching on his helmet's communication to the base. "Stop calling me that! I don't know who the hell you're talking to when you do that."

There was a long pause, and a rush of staticky laughter. "Hey, I'm just following protocol. Just be careful, bro."

_Brother. Something he would never deserve to be called again. But the memory relentlessly continued._

Edward managed a smile: Alphonse, a technician and radio operator at the base, always managed to keep him laughing. "Yeah." With the familiar crackle of alchemy surrounding his weapon, the blond charged out from behind the wall and returned fire. Four figures fell in front of him, bearing the same blazing red uniforms as the Drachma army.

There was a low moan behind him; he turned and his eyes widened. A young soldier, not much older than he was, had two bullets embedded in his chest armor. He was struggling to breathe, each gasp bringing agony to his chest. Blood was trickling from the wound, and Ed realized that the boy's lungs had been punctured.

Checking to see that the lines were held by the other soldiers, he knelt down next to the fallen soldier. Before he could apply a medical kit, the boy's eyes went blank.

He slid his eyelids closed, then got up. Death was a common occurrence on the battlefield, and it didn't bother him as much as it would have before.

_He was never accustomed to death anyways…_

Drachma had been waging this war upon them for half a month. It had been sixteen years since his mother had died, and eighteen years since Hohenheim had left.

Alphonse and Edward had joined the army one year ago. The State Alchemist program had long been overruled by the new government, and it was no longer a militarist type of control. Amestris was now divided into twelve sectors, each sending two representatives to the main capitol.

Even now, he was still fighting to keep the peace. War was never something he liked.

There was a distant explosion, and Edward ran toward the source. His fellow soldiers lay motionless on the ground, and he glanced around. There was someone still there—but nothing was showing up on the radar…

Back at base, Alphonse dashed over to the southeast screen of the battle. The large projection showed nothing but the smoldering remains of a minor base, and he growled—Edward was acting like a heroic idiot again. "Someone get him out of there!" he snapped.

General Kruse stalked over. "Specialist Elric! What's the matter? Why aren't you at your post?"

Alphonse resisted the urge to ignore his superior, but he tore his eyes away from the screen and snapped to attention. "It's Sector One, sir."

Kruse brushed Alphonse aside and glanced at the screen. "Second Lieutenant Elric," he said with irony. "I should have known."

"Sir, I suggest that he should retreat back to base. He and Sectors Two through Nineteen are the only ones left to cover a two-mile radius."

"No, they'll hold."

"Sir, with all due respect—"

Kruse cut him off with a steely gaze. "Your brother is the best soldier I've ever seen. He will be fine." With a hint of a smile and a last acknowledgement at Alphonse's weak salute, he walked off. Alphonse stared in amazement one last time at the general, then shook his head and went back to his post.

_Alphonse should have stayed. The memory… stop…_

There was something wrong. He could feel it. There wasn't anyone there, but why had an entire base blown up by itself?

_Tick, tock._

Edward whirled around; something was left.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

Nothing but dead soldiers. He really should be getting out of here…

_Ka-chak._

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being reloaded. He saw the sniper the same time Alphonse did on the screen.

_No, don't continue…_

Edward instinctively rolled to the side, but the sniper had obviously been expecting it. A blinding, white-hot bolt of something went straight through his armor and into his back, and he screamed in agony as it tore through his spine. He collapsed on his back, his legs twisted beneath him. His weapon skittered uselessly between two slabs of stone, and an array activated beneath him—an alchemy blocking array.

Through a blur of pain, he saw the sniper reload and aim the gun right at his head. The gun jolted like it had been fired, but there was nothing.

The gun had jammed.

With growing horror, he saw the man chuck the gun over the side of the building. It shattered against the broken ground. He looked back up and saw an old-fashioned rifle in the Drachman's hands.

He fired.

Edward closed his eyes, not even bothering to look at his killer's face, ashamed of the burning fear stealing through his heart. There was a soft 'thud,' then something heavy toppled over on top of him. He opened his eyes.

A dark pool of crimson blood spread out across his chest armor, dripping obscenely over the edges and flooding into his mask. Bitter, rusty air filled the oxygen, and he wrenched his helmet off and struggled to sit up; strangely enough, his legs refused to obey him. Ignoring the fresh pain radiating up his back, he turned the person who had saved him over onto his back.

Disbelief.

It was Alphonse.

"NO!" Edward shouted, shaking his brother's lifeless form. The bullet had torn cleanly through his heart. The shock had killed his only brother.

There was an empty, blank look where his pupils should be. Lifeless gold hit the rays of the setting sun as shots rang out around them. He ran his eyes over Alphonse's wound again, realizing with another pang of guilt that he hadn't worn any armor when he charged selflessly into the fray. To Edward, time had stopped: His brother couldn't be dead, he had been at the base…

Edward was still there when General Kruse pulled him away from Alphonse's body and back into a stretcher.

"Let's go."

"No… I can't leave him… Alphonse… We can't leave!"

"He's dead."

"No, he isn't." Pushing away the paramedics, he struggled to sit back up again. His legs refused to move. Edward gazed in frustration at them, and pushed himself off the stretcher.

"He's paralyzed…" Kruse stared at Edward.

"What did you say…?" Gold stared into battle-hardened evergreen eyes.

"You're paralyzed from waist down, Lieutenant Elric. We're sending you back home, kid."

The rest of the days had passed by in a blur.

_Your brother participated in a Space Projection program called S.I.L.V.E.R. He had records that match yours very closely, and this program spent lots of money on his particular project. We can link you to the space station Ragnarok and send you up._

"…"

_He's unresponsive, _someone whispered.

_We could give you a new life. Wipe your entire record clean, kid. Listen, you go up there, and you could regain use of your legs. _

For the first time in months, Edward looked up.

Two unfamiliar men in lab coats stood in front of him. One wore steel- rimmed glasses, and the other had a ridiculously naïve smile on his face. The man with the glasses was the one who had been talking before.

He took in his surroundings silently. He was strapped to a flat operating surface, and the room was entirely white and quiet save the humming whirr of machinery. There was a sickening smell of disinfectant in the air. A large glass panel lay to his right, and there were two physicians standing behind it.

"Hey, the name's Kain Fury!" The man with the naïve smile stepped closer. The one with glasses frowned. "And he's Maes Hughes."

"Hm." Hughes looked away.

"So…" Kain looked down and bit his lip. "You're going to join, right?"

No answer from Edward.

"Kain, let's go." Hughes stepped forward, noticing the blond was uncomfortable with Kain's attitude. "We've got our answer."

"We do…?" Kain hesitantly asked as they walked out the door. It closed behind them and locked. "Hey, why are we leaving?"

"Because we've got our answer," Hughes replied. The black-haired man glanced to the side, where Kain was staring at him.

"Because if you were looking closely at his eyes, you would've seen that there was determination."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I apologize for the long hiatus; writer's block hit and when I recovered, I had completely forgotten about this story!

On the note about how Alphonse rescued his brother in time: It's something I'll have to elaborate more on, but there's going to be a lot of fictional technology (i.e. transportation machines, warp speeds, hibernation/cryostasis based technology) so it'll be confusing at times. Alphonse's rescue will be elaborated more on in later chapters.

And no, Edward is _not _a drug addict. The pills are to manage with the pain from previous injuries from the war (although it would be interesting to experiment with that; what with the depression of Al's death… Hmm… What do you guys think?)

Thanks to all the reviewers, people who favorited, alerted, etc. You guys are awesome!

Chapter Two: Waiting Rooms

"Don't touch me."

The man, startled, lifted his hands in a gesture of apology. "I'm sorry, sir, but rules—"

Edward silenced him with a single golden glare, and then heaved himself into the wheelchair on his own accord, strong arms working effortlessly with the dead weight of his legs. "Don't treat people like me like we're fucking made of glass. And you should be careful with that mouth of yours; I heard everything you were whispering to your friend over there."

He gaped openly. Edward brushed past him and punched the button on the side of the hover car. He wheeled down the ramp, the smooth metal rasping over the calluses of his hands. The feel of the sun and cool fall breeze washed over his skin and he breathed in, grateful for the absence of the harsh scent of disinfectant.

"We—we should get going," the attendant stammered timidly; it was clear that he regretted his earlier words. "Sir."

Edward ignored him and gazed at the scenery around him. Maple leaves littered the pavement, and suddenly he imagined Alphonsestanding in front of their mother's house, fascinated with the fiery color of fall that so reminded him of alchemy, pure joy running through his eyes as he raced him down the hill to the pond—

But he was gone, dead, the memory of crimson liquid dripping down his uniform reminding him that-

"Sir?"

"Yeah, I know." Edward, subdued, quickly wheeled up the ramp and into the sleek white building. A cool blast of air conditioning blew his shoulder-length hair back, effectively sending a shiver up his back. The modern sophistication of curved lines and simple geometric patterns were integrated into the SILVER Headquarters; it was obvious that they used alchemy to update the building itself. The visible lack of life in the building disturbed him for reasons he didn't know, and he wheeled to one of the art pieces displayed on the wall.

The glass doors quietly slid closed, and the attendant spoke briefly with the receptionist. Someone was assigned to guide him to Maes Hughes's office, Edward assumed, because another silver door slid aside to admit a new person.

The woman introduced herself as Edith LeBourg, a too-chipper attendant. The previous man quickly excused himself and left. "It's an honor to meet you," she gushed as they were traveling up the clear elevator shaft. "It's terrible, really, your loss! I'm so sorry!"

Her entire manner was fake. He gripped the wheels tighter, rage building in his veins. _How dare she._

Edith looked at him expectantly as if she wanted a reply. Edward cast her a veiled look and shrugged. "I'm sure you are," he replied casually, easily disguising the unreasonable rage rising in his chest.

She didn't miss a beat. "I heard _all _about it. Your poor brother!" There was a short moment of silence until Edith said something that caused Edward to see red: "I heard," she said, leaning conspiratorially towards him, manicured red nails resting on his shoulder, "that alchemists could bring _people _back to life. Why didn't you try it?"

_His temper_, he managed to form coherently in head through the haze of reckless rage, _had to control his temper—she didn't know anything—calm down calm down calm down_

A pleasant 'ding' announced the arrival of their floor. He immediately rolled to the door, nearly crushing Edith's pointy-shoe clad feet, and left her far behind him. Thank God he had the time to reconstruct the wheelchair's mechanics: it went a lot faster than most doctors would consider safe.

"Wait!" She called after him, her voice growing fainter. "At least—office 3A1!"

He flew past the wooden doors, the numbers dwindling until he came to a skidding stop in front of a set of windows. Edith was gone from the corridor entrance.

The sudden rush of anger dissipated and he felt the familiar twinges of slight pain in his old injuries.

Without preamble he reached into the back of the wheelchair and pulled out a small silver prescription dispenser of generic pain pills—_Vicodin Genesis, _a voice said in the back of his head. He pried the lid open, ignoring the automated LED lights blinking 'Dosage Exceeded' as he shook out a vague amount of the small white pills. He felt them go quite unwillingly down his throat and he coughed, tossing the container back into his wheelchair compartment.

"I'm sorry about her," someone said behind him, 'hrm-ing' irritably at the corridor behind him. A paper cup of water was proffered to him, and he snatched it and drained the water in one gulp. "I saw you… speeding… by the door window. She does tend to have that effect on people. I don't know if it's deliberate or not."

Edward crushed the cup in his hand and wheeled around, facing Maes Hughes. "I'll take that as an apology."

The green-eyed man smiled. "I think we'll get along just fine."


End file.
